The Dance
by Jack E. Peace
Summary: (reposted) Set after "Chosen", Xander thinks about Anya and remembers the dance at prom


Disclaimer: None of the characters or events belong to me; the song "The Dance" belongs to Garth Brooks and whoever wrote it. I just know he sang it.   
  
A/N: So, I'm listening to "The Dance" and that song is really depressing; I don't know how many people actually know that song, but it's very sad. So I started thinking about how I could base a story off of it and this idea came to me. I hope you guys like it, please review and enjoy. Set, of course, after "Chosen."  
  
This story is for my best friend, who is going through some tough stuff right now; just remember that every thing happens for a reason, and every moment is important. You never know when your last dance might be.   
  
The Dance   
  
Not for the first time, Xander Harris awoke from a heart-wrenching dream involving his ex-fiance and late lover, tears in the corners of his eyes. Her beautiful face still lingered in his mind, even after he had switched on his bedside lamp, wiping sleep and tears from his eyes. Her voice rang in his ears, her kiss lingered upon his lips; he stared at the beige wall before him, attempting to blink the thoughts away.   
  
Xander glanced to his right, half-expected to see Anya Jenkins laying sound-asleep beside him, golden hair sprawled across the pillow, like a halo. But the bed was empty, as it always was now and might always be. He reached out and touched the spare pillow, mind going to a time when he wasn't sleep alone, when he woke up beside the love of his life, seeing her sweet smile in the morning.   
  
'Never again,' he reminded himself painfully, shaking his head slightly, pursing his lips. They only time he'd see Anya again would be in his dreams, pleasant and heart-breakingly brief. He would forever hold her in the past, whisper-sweet nothings in her ear and fight along side her, as he should have done that horrible day. The day everything had changed. It should have been him that died in the last battle with the First, he should have died protecting her.   
  
Xander frowned, biting his bottom lip until he tasted blood, trying to force the memories from his mind. But he couldn't, he couldn't avert his thoughts, push them elsewhere; couldn't stop thinking of how she had died alone, of how he should have been there with her.   
  
He pictured himself holding her in his arms as she died, Sunnydale High School crumbling around them; he saw himself unable to leave her, dying there with her, telling her all the things he had never said when they had been together, or when they had been alone.   
  
How often he regretted never telling her how much he truly loved her, how he couldn't imagine life without her; he wished he'd taken her in his arms those weeks ago and simply held her, silently letting her know how he had felt.   
  
But Xander hadn't done any of those things, hadn't let his true feelings be known, even on the day when it was most important. Nearly every second he regretted leaving Anya on their wedding day, wishing he had stood beside her and said his vows, promised never to leave her again. He closed his eyes and saw her standing there, beautifully hopeful in her flowing wedding gown, eyes bright with hope and love. It wasn't the first time he envisioned himself standing before her, taking her hands in his and slipping on the gold wedding band. "I do." He whispered aloud, opening his eyes and finding himself in his apartment.   
  
Xander slipped out of bed, crossing the room and standing in front of his dresser, sliding the top drawer open, the drawer filled with the objects he had taken with him from Sunnydale, the things he had packed hurriedly before the battle. Among the photographs of him, Buffy and Willow, were pictures of him and Anya, most noticeably the glossy picture from the Sunnydale Prom. Anya had insisted on getting as many pictures taken of that night as possible, and now he was glad that she had, for, after those four years had passed, he only had this one left. She looked so happy, a bright smile upon her soft features, clinging to his arm. Xander was ashamed to see that he looked slightly nervous or fed-up with the ex-demon, the photographer having captured him while he was rolling his eyes.   
  
But that had all changed when they had shared the last dance together, when he had held her, her head nestled against his shoulder, body against his. For a moment, he had felt safe, forgetting all about the danger they were about to face against the mayor, feeling like a normal teenager at his senior prom.   
  
Xander wished he could just go back to that moment, truly the most perfect moment of his life; wished he could tell Anya everything he wanted to say, wished he could hold her and make the moment last forever. Part of him wished he had known then how everything was going to turn out, wondering if he would have tried to change it.   
  
Would he have ever proposed to her, knowing he was going to leave Anya at the altar? Would he have ever left her? Would he have even continued their relationship, knowing that she was destined to die years later.   
  
"No." He mumbled to himself, breaking the silence. He would never take back everything that had happened with Anya, knowing that he was in love for the first time, for the first time, feeling safe and complete. Everything felt right when he was with Anya, so simple and right.   
  
But he would give anything to back in that moment again, swaying gently to The Sundays as they played, holding Anya and feeling safe. If he could live forever in that moment, he would give anything.   
  
He drifted off to sleep again, minutes later, lying in his bed, the prom picture pressed against his chest, tears in his eyes again.   
  
Forever thinking of the last dance.   
  
////   
  
And I'm glad I didn't know, the way it   
  
all would end, the way it all would go. Our   
  
lives are better left to chance; I could have   
  
missed the pain but I'd had to miss the   
  
dance.   
  
//// 


End file.
